


chocolate croissants

by karumbled (saquashing)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: GeorgeNotFound-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Happy Ending, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Muah, NO SHIPPING MINORS, Not Canon Compliant, Parental Sam | Awesamdude, Protective GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Sam | Awesamdude, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Warden Sam | Awesamdude, brief and not in detail, but not willingly, georgenotfound is asleep, my gift for the mcyt shipping brainrot discord server, problematic shippers go away pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-25 17:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30092271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saquashing/pseuds/karumbled
Summary: george wakes up from a deep sleep, rescues a child from his psychopathic ex-best friend, then adopts said child with his old roommate- story is finished, updates as i edit -
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, GeorgeNotFound & Niki | Nihachu, GeorgeNotFound & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sam | Awesamdude, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, past george / dream
Comments: 102
Kudos: 408





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 5th work in the samnotfound tag pog

Sharp pains shot through George’s temples as he slowly peeled opened his eyes, taking multiple attempts to open his heavy eyelids completely. It took a moment for him to adjust to the bright sunlight of the room he was in, the light spilling from the window next to him and onto his face like a spotlight, making the pounding in his head even worse. 

He blinked the residual bleariness from his eyes, clearing his throat and slowly sitting up, cringing at how his back cracked when he stretched. He laid in a worn, beige bed and a soft white comforter strewn over him haphazardly. What he assumed was a once fluffy pillow was matted and flat from the weight of his head. 

A nightstand sat next to him, paint chipping and wood warping from old age, giving it a vintage look. On top of which, laid a small picture frame, the image inside tinted various shades of yellows and oranges.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed it was the Dream Team, way back when they finished the construction of the community house. He couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged his lips, and with a tired hand, he reached for the frame. 

Residual fogginess clouded his mind as he stared at the image. His head tilted, looking from the frame to the door of the room, which remained shut, wind whistling from the crack underneath.

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped, heart thundering in his chest. He had no idea where he was, or how he even got there. 

The picture frame clattered onto the ground, glass shattering, though he couldn't hear it over his heavy breaths. He grabbed the comforter and threw it off of him, wincing as the chill air hit his skin.

The last thing he remembered was venting to Dream about the state of his house. His nose curled as he remembered the smell of burnt mushroom and wood. What happened? 

Flashes of Dream talking to Tubbo, no, yelling at Tubbo, rang through his mind. But past that, it was blank. His throat constricted, his stomach dropping as he realized what Dream did. It wasn’t the first time that the man decided he needed to ‘rest’, forcing him asleep like some creepy fairytale and locking him away, under the guise of keeping him safe. 

It was usually for hours, the longest ever being days unconscious, left with no control over his own body or mind. Every time it happened he begged for Dream to stop, told him that he didn’t like it, and every time Dream would apologize, wrap him in a hug and tell him that he was making the best decision possible. The worst part was, George always forgave him. He looked down at his hands, thin and pale from the lack of proper food and exercise. A small kindle sparked deep inside of him, feeding the tiniest of rebellious urges. He was going to kill Dream. 

Okay, not actually kill him, but he was going to find him, and yell -- a lot. He had no right to take away his bodily-autonomy, drugging him and locking him away for what _he_ thought was best. Tears of frustration pooled beneath his eyelids, threatening to spill with every shaky breath. He took a small step forward, his legs feeling weak from their lack of use. 

He wondered how long he had been out that time, but from how his legs were screaming beneath his weight, it had to have been at least a week. The thought made him sick. He didn’t like missing out on what was happening on the SMP, he wanted to be able to pick sides, make friends, and get involved in politics, like everyone else. 

He thought back to the first time it had happened. The election. He had actually been excited to be involved in something for once, Quackity was too. They had the debate in the courthouse, and it was the most fun George had in a long time. He grew to like Quackity, too, no matter how much he hated to admit it. But then Dream stepped in, saying they needed to talk. 

George didn’t remember the conversation, he just remembered waking up to Quackity, yelling and cursing at him in Spanish. It took forever to make it up to the then vice-president. But then it happened again, before the festival. 

Like clock-work, Dream asked to see him privately, then hours later he woke up with a headache and stories of massacre via fireworks. That’s when he put two and two together, realizing that Dream was the cause of his slumber. 

_“I did you a favor, George, you didn’t want to be there,”_ Is what he said. Looking at the soot-stained stage the next day, he couldn’t say he disagreed. But then it kept happening, and he knew that he would rather make his own mistakes than let someone else make his choices. 

It kept happening though, and despite his better instincts, he kept crawling back to Dream. Looking at his reflection in the window, he caught his eye, scowling at his sunken eyes and chapped lips, an unpleasant burning filling his chest. He knew why he kept going back to the man, and why he kept forgiving him. 

He was in love with him, and even though it was misguided, Dream’s attempts to keep him safe were almost… sweet, in a sick way. Dream was right, he was just doing what he thought was best. Still, he couldn’t get past the violation of trust that was putting him to sleep without his consent. He needed to talk to him, so they could discuss this, and hopefully move on. 

He sighed, leaning on the backs of his heels and pinching the bridge of his nose, “God, I’m such a simp,” he muttered, his voice cracking. He turned and walked to the door, the handle chill against his palm. 

Last he remembered, it was early fall, why was it cold outside? 

He let it go and opened the door, wincing as the hinges creaked. The wind was biting, nipping at his exposed skin. He wished Dream at least left him a hoodie, he thought bitterly as he rubbed his arms. Looking around, he realized that he wasn’t in the usual place Dream stashed his unconscious body. This time he was in an actual structure, hidden in the woods. He had no idea where he was. 

He rolled his eyes, suppressing his groan. Of course, Dream put him in the middle of nowhere, not even bothering to leave him a map. It was like he wasn’t expecting him to wake up. He knew that couldn’t be the case, though. Dream always planned ahead extensively, leaving nothing up to chance. 

Taking a step forward, he realized he didn’t have shoes. Dried leaves and grass stuck to his sock-covered feet, but he knew he didn’t want to stay there, waiting for Dream to come to save him. He had _some_ dignity left. 

The best he could do right then was hope he wasn’t too far from the SMP, and that the walk was smooth. Looking to the sky, he noted the position of the sun. He had about two hours before it set completely, and from the trajectory, he quickly figured out which way was north and headed off in that direction. 

It took about an hour for the bright lights of L’Manburg to catch his eye, a relieved smile tugging his lips as he thought for a moment that he’d have to sleep under the stars. His feet were aching, his legs were burning and his lungs felt seconds away from giving up, but the sight of L’Manburg filled him with renewed energy, making the last stretch of his travels pass by a lot quicker. 

Only when he stepped onto the wooden path did he realize how insane he must look, shoeless, coatless, a week’s worth of bedhead and in sweats. He ignored the stares, spotting Niki and rushing towards her. They weren’t the closest, but she had always been friendly, even when they were on opposing sides. 

“Niki!” He called, smiling as he approached the blonde. Her eyes widened as she took in George’s disheveled appearance, looking around nervously before ushering him into a building, “What’s wrong?” He asked, his head tilting as she looked out the windows, seemingly to make sure no one saw them enter. 

“What are you doing here?” She rushed, though it was clear there was no venom behind the words, just concern and confusion, “Where have you been? Are you okay?” 

George’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown, “What are you talking about, I’m fine,” he replied, his stomach twisting with anxiety. As angry as he was about Dream, he didn’t like the idea of other people knowing about their drama. He was a private man, after all. They wouldn’t understand the nature of their friendship. They had disagreements, sometimes, but he still cared for Dream, he was his best friend. It was just a misunderstanding. 

“You’ve been missing for a month, George,” She replied, watching him carefully. 

George’s eyes shot open, and he had to swallow the bile down from his throat, the room was spinning around him, “George?” She asked, noticing how quick his breathing became, and placed a gentle hand on his wrist. 

“A month?” He croaked, tears welling in his eyes, his hands shaking, “I’ve been asleep for a month?” 

Niki faltered, her mouth dropping open in surprise, “You’ve been… asleep?” She asked, “For a month?” 

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, taking a second to breathe before answering, “It doesn’t matter,” he said, brushing past the explanation he knew she wanted, but didn't have the energy to give. She wouldn't understand, she would think Dream is a bad person, “I need to talk to Dream? Do you know where he is?” 

At the mention of Dream, Niki’s nose curled and she took a step back. Okay, apparently she already thought he was a bad person. 

“You really don’t know, do you?” 

“Know what?” He asked, his irritation growing with each passing second. This was the worst part of when Dream put him to sleep, he was always left out of the loop and left looking like an idiot. 

“After Dream exiled Tommy, Tubbo banned him from L’Manburg,” She explained softly, giving him a second to process what she was saying. “He was trying to manipulate them, we all assumed you were on his side, we've been looking for you.”

George couldn’t breathe, the tsunami of information was drowning him, overwhelming him, suffocating him. He missed a month. Not only that, but Tommy was exiled, and Dream was starting problems with Tubbo. 

He thought for sure that after the last war, Dream would be leaving them alone. He promised he would. He said that it would be over, and they would be happy. He felt like a knife had been stabbed through his back, piercing his heart. 

Thinking about Tommy in exile, separated from Tubbo, the knife twisted. They were best friends, and most importantly, they were just kids, “Why did he put Tommy in exile?” He asked, chewing his lips, “Where is he now? Can I see him?” 

“Oh George, you don't have a clue,” She laughed, bitter, “Tommy’s in exile for what happened to your house,” Niki explained, running a hand over her face, “He’s still there, Dream promised he would kill him if he sets foot in the SMP or L’Manburg, even after he was banned himself.” 

George gasped, a hand flying to his mouth and his eyes widening to the size of saucers. This was all _his_ fault. He didn’t want Dream to do anything about his house, all he wanted was someone to comfort him, and maybe help him rebuild. This was too far. This was insane. 

His knees buckled beneath him, slamming into the ground as he fell against it with a cry. This wasn’t Dream, this couldn’t be the same man who fought to keep him safe. How could he do that, and to a child? He never really got along with the boy, but that’s all he was. A boy. 

Niki came to his side, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, “You’ve been gone a while, George,” She said softly, “There’s a lot you haven’t seen.” 

He closed his eyes, ignoring the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. A part of him wished he stayed asleep. 

* * *

After his breakdown with Niki, George set off. Both to find him some proper clothes and to fix everything he had ruined. The thought of Tommy, alone, because of him -- God, it made him feel nauseous. 

He didn’t try to avoid Dream, or the places they used to hang out, though the thought of seeing him made bile rise in his throat, but a large part of him was afraid of seeing his friend. He had never been one for confrontation, and he didn’t trust himself not to go crawling back to him at the first fake apology and empty promise. 

The first thing he needed to do was find Tommy. Niki had told him the vague area of where he was living now, far, far away. But there was a pathway, she said, through the nether, that was a lot quicker. 

He needed to make sure he was okay, and that Dream hadn’t hurt him. Dream wouldn't hurt him right? Did he even know what he was truly capable of? Clearly he had kept a lot from him. He felt like his entire world was shifting beneath his feet.

The sun was setting, but there was no way in hell he was sleeping that night. After he got some basic supplies; shoes, a weapon, and some food, he set off towards the portal.

He always hated traveling through portals, no matter how often he did it, he never got used to it. The naseauting purple, or what he was told was purple, always made his eyes hurt and his stomach churn. 

Not to mention that the nether was literally hell, or at least the closest thing to it. It was hot, almost everything tried to kill you, and it smelt awful, like sulfur and rotting flesh. 

Following Niki’s directions, he went off in what he was 90 percent sure was the right way. Okay, 85. Still, he ignored the anxiety that filled his chest, and the doubt in the back of his head, pretending like he wasn’t afraid. 

He had no idea what he was going to do when he found Tommy, he just knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw the teenager alive and well. Hell, maybe he was happy in his new house, plenty of room to build ugly cobblestone towers. Maybe, he would go there and they would have a friendly conversation, and George could leave with a peace of mind. 

As much as he wanted to believe that, he knew it wasn’t true. Something told him there was something dreadfully wrong about what was happening in exile, and his protective instinct took over. He never thought of himself as the protective, mama-bird type, but here he was, setting off to make sure a _child_ was okay. And not just a child, _Tommy._

He dodged the groups of piglins and stray ghasts with ease, used to dealing with them from exploring with Dream and Sapnap. 

He didn’t know how much time passed before he found the right portal, the time passage was different in the nether, and he still didn’t really have a grasp on it. 

Bracing himself, he stepped into the portal, praying and pleading to every god he didn't believe in that he would step through and that everything would be alright. 

He should have known better, nothing ever turned out the way he wanted. 

Once the nausea wore off from traveling back to the overworld, the scent of gunpowder hit him like a truck, burning his nose and sticking in his throat. 

He continued forward, swallowing thickly and following a path to the top of a small hill, that's when his breath was ripped from his lungs and his mouth dropped open. 

A couple yards in front of him was a massive crater, the remnants of a structure still smoking and ash billowing from the hole. 

Dread slammed into him like a train. Did Tommy make it out? 

Tears filled his eyes, and his heart dropped. There was no sign of the teenager anywhere.

He fell to his knees for the second time that day. 

Years of little things he had refused to think about flooded his head, plaguing his heart and mind. The battle for L’Manburg, Tommy and Tubbo were so young then. He should have stopped Dream, he should have kept them safe. He thought about the duel, how he didn’t blink at the teenager risking his life for his country, too focused on making sure Dream was okay. 

And now it was too late. 

A sob wracked through his chest, broken pleas falling past his lips. He had always put Dream first, and look where that got him, waking up after a month-long slumber and kneeling over the spot where he probably murdered a child. 

His lungs burned and his heart thundered in his chest, what was he going to do? How was he supposed to explain this to Niki, she was just as worried as him, if not more. 

“George?”

He turned around sharply, crying out in relief as he laid eyes on the blonde in question. His eyes were red, he was covered in ash and he seemed scared, but he wasn’t physically hurt. 

George pushed himself off of the ground, not even thinking before rushing towards the blonde and wrapping his arms around him. Tommy froze, for a moment, before slowly reciprocating the hug, trembling in his arms. 

“What are you doing here, Gogy?” Tommy asked, his voice rough, thick with unshed tears. George pulled away, and that’s when something caught his eye. A large tower, a little bit away from the destruction. 

Meeting Tommy’s eyes, George noted how defeated he looked, and how his gaze kept flicking to the wooden tower. 

“Oh,” He whispered, his eyes softening, “Oh, Tommy, no.” 

The blonde sniffled, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked to the ground, “Why are you here, George?” He whispered, anger clouding his voice, but he knew better. “Don't you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, Tommy,” George replied, trying his best to come across as comforting, but he wasn't experienced when it came to this kind of thing. The fact that the teenager even thought that he hated him made his stomach feel like acid, he wasn't heartless after all, "I don’t give a fuck about my mushroom house, it took me like an hour to make, it’s fine.” 

“But- but Dream said you hated me,” Tommy replied, his voice wavering as tears finally spilled down his cheeks, “and that you left the SMP because of it, because of me.”

The spark in his gut rekindled, this time burning into the strength of a wildfire, all consuming and ready to destroy what little self-control he had left. He wondered how easy it would be to kill Dream, he did trust him after all. 

“I was away from the SMP, yes,” He explained, avoiding the reason, while tying his best to offer him a reassuring smile, though he was sure it didn’t come across that way, “It wasn’t because of you.” 

Tommy seemed to crumble at that, falling to the ground in a pit of sobs and unintelligible murmurs. George couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to change the stubborn, fiery and well, annoying, teenager into _that,_ a sobbing mess, with just a hug and a little bit of reassurance. 

“I don’t, I don’t need your pity,” Tommy mumbled, pushing himself away from George and wrapping his arms around himself, like a hug. George’s protective instincts went on overdrive, and he fought the urge to embrace him again, but he didn’t want to push him too far. 

Instead, he sat by his side, looking at the destruction with contempt, “This isn’t pity, Tommy,” He said, digging through his pockets for a bar of chocolate Niki gave him, breaking it into two and holding a piece out to the teenager, waiting for him to take it before he continued, “I genuinely do care about you, I know we haven’t really gotten along, but that doesn’t mean you deserve… this.” 

Tommy stared at the piece of chocolate in his hand inquisitively, before plopping the entire thing in his mouth, the sweet cocoa seemingly soothing the blonde, “I thought he was my friend,” He whispered, “But he was just visiting me to watch me.” 

George sighed, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. He didn’t think about what he said next. 

“Tommy, come live with me.”

The blonde’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide as he processed what George said. 

“What?” He asked, disbelieving, “But, but I can’t go to the SMP, and Dream- Dream would be mad.”

“Fuck Dream,” George said honestly, his respect for his friend burning in the crater along with Tommy’s camp, “And as for the SMP, who said we were going there?” 

Tommy’s head tilted, “You don’t have a house, where would we go?”

“I had the mushroom house, sure,” George explained, smiling as an idea came to mind, “But that isn’t the only place I ever lived.”

“What are you talking about?” Tommy asked, his eyes squinting as he faced George, eyes puffy and rimmed with red, “Where did you live before?” 

George didn’t answer, he just stood up, offering his hand to the blonde, “Do you trust me?” 

Tommy shrugged, “Not particularly,” he admitted, though he took George’s hand and stood up regardless. 

“That’s fair,” George chuckled, leading him towards the portal he came through, “But will you come with me anyways?” 

The blonde followed him, only faltering once, before the portal, biting his lip and his fingers fidgeting with his worn shirt, “Do you- do you promise you’re not going to tell Dream I went in the nether?” 

George’s eyebrows furrowed, biting back the bile in his throat. What did Dream do to him to make him that afraid of going into the nether? 

“Tommy,” he said sternly, looking into his eyes so he knew he was telling the truth, “Dream will never come near you again, okay?” 

The blonde rubbed his forehead for a moment, looking deep in thought, before eventually stepping forward, “Okay.” 

* * *

The trip in the nether took a lot longer this time around, both with Tommy behaving like a scared cat, and George not entirely sure where he was going, looking carefully for the familiar ice bridge. 

He knew Sam would still have his room there, waiting for him. He said as much every time he asked him to come back. Looking back at Tommy, who was carefully crossing the path behind him, eyes bouncing around the nether with fear; he hoped Sam wouldn’t mind the extra company. 

“Where are we going?” Tommy asked, jumping when the cry of a ghast echoed throughout the hell dimension. 

George rolled his eyes, “Nothing’s going to hurt you, Tommy, just don’t hit anything,” he reminded, biting back the urge to laugh when a baby piglin ran by the blondes side, making him jump, “And we’re going to Sam’s, have you ever been there?”

Tommy hummed, “Man’s fucking insane with redstone,” He sped up so he was next to George’s side, “You know, considering how short you are, you’re really fast.”

George glared at the blonde, but let it go, “I used to have a room at Sam’s place,” he explained half-heartedly, smiling when he saw the faint sight of the ice bridge in the distance, “He’ll be happy to have us there. Besides, he’s not on the SMP, is he?”

Tommy’s lips broke out into a mischievous smile, noting the loophole, though it faltered as he thought more and more about George's solution, “Are you sure he won't mind me being there? There's not a whole lot of people who like me right now, George.” 

“That's ridiculous,” George replied simply, guiding Tommy up the staircase to the bridge. He prayed no one came out of the portal just then, there would be no way to explain what he was doing, “Even if he _didn't_ like you, which he does, he would still take you in.” 

“How did you meet him, anyways?” Tommy asked, changing the topic of conversation back to George, he noticed, but he let it slide. 

“He was one of the original eight on the SMP,” George explained, sighing in relief when he saw there was already a boat on the bridge, he didn’t think to bring wood, “He’s always been a good friend,” He remembered fondly, “He was cracked at redstone, even then.” 

Tommy hummed, climbing into the wooden boat behind him. George didn’t look over the sides, focusing in front of him. No matter how many times he crossed over the bridge, the sheer drop always made his skin crawl. 

“How come he wasn’t around for the wars and shit? If you guys were such good friends." Tommy asked. George took a second to answer, propelling them off of the side and onto the ice. 

Once they got to a speed where George didn’t have to push as hard anymore, he finally answered, wincing as he thought about why Sam left for a while, “Dream and Sam didn’t always get along,” he said carefully, “they both have very dominant personalities and different views on friendship.” 

Tommy scoffed, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means they don’t get along,” George deadpanned, not in the mood to explain the group's past drama to the teen. What was in the past was in the past, and if he was being honest, he still felt guilty about what happened, “We’re almost to the turn, hang on.” 

Although he seemed hesitant, Tommy eventually wrapped his thin arms around George, leaning his face against his back, though with how much taller he was it was more against his shoulder. 

George tensed for a moment, before he heard the soft breathing of the blonde behind him, and he smiled as he realized he fell asleep. 

His protective instincts squashed the sliver of annoyance within him as he realized Tommy must have been exhausted. He wondered when it was he slept last. 

He slowed down the boat, taking as long as he could to cross the rest of the bridge to give him time to rest, holding as still as possible to not jostle the boy. But if anyone asked, he was just enjoying the view. 

He let himself breathe, deeply, for the first time since he woke up from his month-long slumber. He had no idea where the protective instincts came from, but he stopped fighting them. Tommy may not have much of a family anymore, but neither did he. They could be there for each other.

George chewed the inside of his cheeks, eyes burning as they reflected the bright light of flowing lava. As much as he trusted Sam, and knew logically that he would never hurt them, he couldn’t help but worry. 

If Sam didn’t take them in, he had no idea where they would go. But as he heard the soft mumbles of the sleeping teenager, clinging on his back like a koala, he knew he would figure it out. 

It didn’t take long for him to cross the rest of the bridge, and he dreaded waking Tommy up. Something told him he hadn’t had good rest in a long time, and he wanted him to get some sleep. 

He turned around slowly, bringing a hand to the blonde's shoulder and shaking gently, “Tommy,” He whispered, “Tommy, come on, wake up .” 

The blonde slowly opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away and sitting up, stretching, “Sorry,” He apologized, a sheepish smile tugging his lips and a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“Don’t be,” George replied, making sure he sounded nonchalant, the last thing he wanted was for Tommy to feel like a nuisance, he wanted him to trust him. He stood from the boat, holding his hand out for the blonde to grab, helping him off the ice bridge before leading him onto the netherrack, “We’re almost there, just have to go through this last portal.”

Tommy nodded, rubbing the last of his short sleep from his eyes, yawning and stretching his arms above him, “I don’t know why I’m so tired all of a sudden,” He said, following George to the once hidden portal. 

“It’s been a long day,” George nodded, waiting for Tommy to catch up to him before stepping through the obsidian portal. 

When the overworld once again materialized around them, George looked around with wide eyes, clearly Sam had decided to do some building, adding a couple of large buildings, big and yellow, though he couldn’t tell what they were for. 

“Do you think he’s home?” Tommy asked, walking with George to the smooth cliff face, where they both knew the secret entrance resided. George bit his lip, looking from the rock to Tommy and shrugging. 

“I guess we’ll find out,” He said simply, walking closer to the secret door, “Is there a secret doorbell?” 

“How am I supposed to know?” Tommy asked, following him closer to the wall, before taking a deep breath, “SAM?!” He yelled, as loud as he could, not stopping even when George recoiled and covered his ears, “SAMMM?!” 

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” George yelled, though he couldn’t help but smile when the blonde burst into a fit of laughter, “Give me a heads up next time.” 

Before Tommy could shoot off a retort, someone cleared their throat behind them, making them both jump. 

Out of pure instinct, George stepped in front of Tommy, ready to fight whoever interrupted them. However, when he looked up at Sam's creeper mask and tilted head, he relaxed. 

“Uh, hi?” Sam greeted, looking between Tommy and George, balancing a pickaxe on his shoulder, “What’s going on?” 

“We need a place to stay,” George said simply, not offering him any further explanations. He knew Sam, and from the way he was looking at them, discerning whether they needed help or not, he knew that the simple explanation was all he needed. 

After a moment, Sam nodded, humming as he walked to the wall, bringing out his hoe and opening the door, motioning the two inside. George’s shoulders sagged in relief. 

Both Tommy and George gasped as they walked inside, eyeing the large cave in awe. It was clear that Sam had done a lot of remodeling since the last time George was there. 

Large couches sat on the far wall, a nice aquarium next to them and a fireplace on the side. Both hallways were lined with doors, like Sapnap’s and George’s, presumably leading to other rooms filled with redstone contraptions George would never understand. The kitchen was far bigger, too, the once spruce countertops replaced with marble and granite. 

“Can I ask why you need a place to stay, George?” Sam asked, walking behind him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, George jumped, and Sam apologized before moving it. 

“I don’t mind, of course, I just want to make sure you’re both okay.” 

George’s lips pulled into a small smile, widening as he faced back to Tommy and saw him light up as he saw Sam’s dog, running towards it and petting it. 

The sounds of the door sliding shut faded into the background, but George couldn't help but notice how as soon as it closed, he instantly felt safe. The perks of living in a wall far away from everyone else, he guessed. 

“I shouldn’t say,” George replied, avoiding the thoughts of his forced comatose and the crater where Tommy used to live. He knew if Sam found out, Dream would be dead by the end of the night. Or worse, his ex? friend would hurt Sam, “But can I ask you to keep this a secret? Us staying here?” 

Sam nodded, fingers twitching by his sides as he stopped himself from embracing George. He had always been affectionate, both physically and not, and it was clear he was trying to avoid making him feel uncomfortable. 

The thought warmed George's heart, it had been so long since someone respected his boundaries, it was nice. 

“Of course, stay as long as you need, both of you,” He replied,“I’m glad you’re back, honestly,” he guided him down the corridor to where Tommy was kneeling by the dog, “I missed having roommates.” 

Tommy perked up as they got near, smiling wide as the dog licked the side of his face, “What’s its name, big man?” He asked, eyes bright. 

“Fran,” Sam answered, sitting on one of the couches and leaning back, his arm wrapping over the back of the cushions, “She’s a sweetheart, oldest pet on the server I think.”

“Fran,” Tommy repeated, laughing when the dog’s head tilted at the use of her name, his own head involuntarily mimicking the action, blonde hair bouncing as he did so. 

The fondness in George’s chest doubled as he watched the teenager interact with the animal. He remembered Dream telling him stories of a cow, Henry, and how Tommy was attached to it. He was clearly an animal person. Maybe Fran could help him heal. 

He sat next to Sam, leaving plenty of room between them. The last thing he wanted was to make him feel overwhelmed in his own home. 

“So I’m not going to ask what happened, but I do have a question,” Sam said, making both George and Tommy tense. Sam leaned forward, slowly unclasping the creeper mask and setting next to his side. 

George’s heart raced as he waited for him to continue, noticing how Tommy stopped petting Fran and was now rubbing his thighs, eyes wide and waiting, he could tell he was assuming the worst, too. 

Finally, Sam continued. 

“What do you want for dinner?” 

George exhaled sharply, and Tommy slouched as he went back to playing with the dog. 

Clearing his throat, George leaned back against the cushions, “Whatever you have is fine, Sam,” He assured, his eyelids feeling heavy as comfort replaced the adrenaline in his body. Tommy was safe, he was safe, he had accomplished all he set out to do, so where did he go from there?

Sam seemed to notice his fatigue, scooting closer to him ever so slightly and moving his hand from the back of the couch onto his shoulder, rubbing the exposed skin on the back of George’s neck, before he could even relax, the hand was gone. “You can go take a nap, if you’re tired George, your room is still in the same place.” 

The thought of going back to sleep terrified George, just the suggestion of it sending a wave of anxiety through his chest. If he went to sleep, could he trust that he would wake up? Sam wouldn't do that to him, right? He trusted Sam. But then again, he trusted Dream. 

He couldn't risk it, not when Tommy was relying on him, not when he had to make up for everything that had happened. 

“No need, I'm not tired,” He stood up, stretching his arms above his head when a yawn escaped his throat. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest as to say ‘Oh really?’ George glared at him, bending over to scratch behind Fran’s ears. 

When he looked up he made eye contact with Tommy, who was chewing on his lip, then cleared his throat, motioning towards Sam. 

“I'm going to go start dinner,” Sam said, taking the hint and heading to the kitchen. George sat down, grateful that he was so perceptive.

He waited for Tommy to start the conversation, petting the top of Fran’s head, not wanting to rush him. 

Eventually, he spoke up, “Gogy -- George, are you, are you sure we can trust Sam?” 

Tommy was coming to him, for validation, for comfort. A small part of George wanted to run, hide far away and stop this before it could really even start. Tommy trusted him, what if he screwed it up? He didn't have a clue as to what to do. 

But he swallowed the doubt, and did his best to seem relaxed, though he was far from it, “If there's one thing that I'm sure of right now, Tommy,” He said, looking back to the Kitchen where Sam was nodding along to whatever song was stuck in his head while he cooked, “It's that he would never hurt us.”

The best, or should he say, weirdest, part of that sentence, was that he believed it. Whole-heartedly. In all of his years of being Sam's friend, he had only seen him angry once. 

He sighed, pushing that memory far from his mind and focusing back on Tommy. He seemed far more relaxed now; George was glad. 

He fought against the awkwardness, the anxiety of not knowing what to say, before nudging Tommy's side. 

“You'll like him better after dinner, Sam’s cracked at cooking, too, not just redstone.” 

At the mention of food, Tommy's stomach growled, which George laughed at, loudly. 

“Shut up, bitch,” Tommy whined, face red and mumbling curses under his breath, which made George laugh harder. Soon, however, Tommy joined in, and although the situation wasn't exactly _funny_ , the ability to finally relax made them a bit hysterical. 

“What's going on in here?” 

George looked up to Sam, who was watching them with a warm smile. He wiped a stray tear from his eyes as he calmed down, his cheeks hurting. Tommy was still giggling, increasing when Fran got excited and started to lick him again. 

“Nothing,” George replied, breathless, “Here, let me help you with the food.”

“Pfft, George sit back down, I have it under control.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted when Sam continued.

“Besides, we both know you aren't exactly a chef…”

Tommy fell into another fit of laughter when George gasped, picking up a pillow and throwing it at the other man, who dodged it at the last moment, his own boisterous laughter filling the air. 

It was warm, comforting. The laughter acting like medicine soothing a cold, or sitting in front of a fire after a long day in the snow. It felt like _home_. 

Why did that scare George?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oo inconsistent chapter lengths 🥵🥵

George eventually got up to help Sam set the table, Tommy refusing to leave Fran's side, even for a second. The dog was loving all of the attention, and George knew then he had made the right decision coming to Sam. 

Honestly, he had forgotten about Fran before they showed up. But of course Sam would have a friendly dog, ready to shower a traumatized teenager in love and affection. Hopefully, she could give him some comfort and maybe help him feel less alone. 

George shivered thinking about the predicament he had found Tommy in, shaking, all by himself, heading to that tower. It takes a lot to drive someone to that, to feeling so worthless and alone that that's the only way out they can see. It made his stomach churn. 

Any time he started feeling in over his head, or like he was making a mistake, he thought about the tower. He got Tommy into that situation, he put him in danger, now he was going to keep him safe. 

“George?” 

He looked up, finally realizing he had been staring at the table, unmoving. He met Sam’s concerned gaze.

“Don't worry about it,” He answered, before he could even ask, “I'm fine.” 

Sam hummed, moving to his side to put a bowl of salad on the table, “I know i'm not supposed to ask what happened,” George nodded, “But you know you can talk to me about anything, right? I want you both to feel comfortable here.”

“I know, Sam,” He replied, cheeks warm from the kindness that he hadn't had in a long time. Dream flirted with him, sure, but all of it felt so plastic, so pretend. And while Sapnap was one of his best friends too, most of what they did was argue.

“Thank you for letting us stay here,” He said earnestly, “I honestly don't know where else we would have gone, apparently things are a lot different than I thought.”

“What do you mean?” 

George bit his lip, moving away from the table. “It doesn't matter.”

He had to be more careful, it was only a matter of time before he slipped up and got himself into trouble. It wasn't just about protecting Dream, which was always his first instinct, but the fact that he _let_ what happened to him happen was humiliating. 

“Food's ready, Tommy,” He called, hoping that Sam would let it go. 

* * *

“When was the last time either of you ate?” Sam finally asked, his resolve to let them keep secrets breaking. He noticed their frail bodies as soon as he saw them, but as he watched them scarf down pork chops and salad, he wasn't able to brush past it.

Both Tommy and George shared a look, sharing a mutual desire to keep their secrets, but also wanting to know the others answer.

Finally, Tommy spoke up, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a stubborn smile tugging his lips, “George gave me chocolate.” 

George nodded vigorously, swallowing his mouthful of food before facing Sam, “He's right, we ate it earlier today -- or yesterday, I'm not actually sure how long we were in the nether.”

“Okay…” Sam sipped his water, “So when was the last time you ate _real_ food?” 

George rolled his eyes as Tommy huffed. It was clear Sam wanted an answer, to this question at least, but how was he supposed to explain he hadn't eaten in a month, kept alive by whatever magic Dream used to put him into sleep? 

“The last I checked, the chocolate was pretty real. Right, Tommy?” He couldn't lie, he too wanted to know more details of what happened to the teenager, but if it was anything like his situation, it couldn't be easy for him to talk about. 

“Yeah, big man,” Tommy agreed, readily teaming up with George to avoid answering Sam's questions, “Cocoa beans are very real, they grow on trees and shit.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, but he finally let it go, residing to eat in peace and let the two keep their secrets. George was immensely grateful, and from his slight nod and smile in his direction, he hoped Sam could tell just how much.

“So, Tommy,” Sam said, stabbing a piece of lettuce on his plate absentmindedly, “I think Sapnap's old room would be best suited for you, I don't think he slept in it once, honestly,” Tommy nodded, “Plus, it's right across the hall from George.”

“Why would that matter? I don’t even like George.” Tommy grumbled, fork stabbing a piece of meat on his plate as his cheeks dusted pink. It made George happy that despite everything, Tommy picked _him_ to get attached to. 

He wondered how Wilbur could stand to blow up L’Manburg, knowing he was leaving behind his brother, his family. He hadn't been by Tommy's side long, but already knew he would kill to keep him safe. 

“Well, anyways, does Sapnap's room work for you?”

Tommy made a face, curling his nose in fake disgust, which George laughed at, but he agreed. He always enjoyed the nature of both his and Tommy's and Sapnap and Tommy's friendships before all of this. 

There was always plenty of teasing, lighthearted pranks, and occasionally a ‘war’ over pets. Though when Dream started picking very real fights with Tommy's older brother, Wilbur, the ‘wars’ turned into actual battles. 

George missed Sapnap, he wondered where he was, if he left with Dream when he got banned from L’Manburg. He was just as loyal to Dream as he was, sticking by his friend no matter what. George admired that about him. He wanted to hear him making fun of him for protecting Tommy, or for going back to Sam. But most of all, he just hoped he was okay. 

The trio finally separated for bed, heading into their respective rooms, Tommy’s and George’s closer, while Sam’s was a bit down the hall, his door marked with green clay and terracotta. 

As soon as George stepped into his room and the door shut behind him, his anxiety returned with a vengeance. His once homely bed taunted him, his lungs constricting and his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

As tired as he was before, he was fully awake now. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep, not when he couldn't guarantee he would wake up in the same month. His breaths turned even shakier, and after a long minute, he turned around, opening the door yet again. He needed to get away from the bed, he needed room to breathe. 

He froze in his place when he saw Tommy, curled up on one of the couches, arms wrapped around his knees, the same self-protecting placement as before. He wondered how long he had spent sitting like that. 

“Tommy?” He whispered, half a mind as to not wake up Sam. The blonde's head tilted up, red puffy eyes meeting his. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, Gogy,” Tommy sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, “Go away.”

George ignored his demand, and sat by his side. He stayed far enough away to let him breathe, but still close enough he knew he was there. 

“Don't wanna sleep either?” George asked, leaning against the back of the couch, head tilted towards the ceiling. 

Tommy sniffled. A beat of silence passed. 

“Did I ever tell you how I met Sapnap?” He asked, already knowing the answer. He wasn't sure where he was going with this, only that he needed something to distract Tommy from whatever was plaguing his mind. 

“I was young, we both were,” He smiled fondly, remembering it like it was the day before, “I was about your age, actually.” 

Tommy tilted towards him, wiping his eyes and waiting for him to continue, holding his knees tightly to his chest. 

“I ran away, and I found this small little village, just a couple of hours from here. I was stealing food, sleeping in people's barns,” George chuckled when Tommy's eyes widened, “Yeah, I'm not kidding. It was disgusting.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair. He didn't miss the cold nights on the dirty hay, having to rush out before sunrise so the farmers wouldn't find him. All he ever dreamed of was having a home, but after everything that had happened in his life, he wasn't sure that it was meant for him. 

“But one day, I stole from this little bakery, but I was cocky -- I got caught,” He cleared his throat, noting that Tommy had already calmed down significantly, his sniffles less frequent and his eyes drying, “It was Sapnap that showed up to distract the police, afterwards introducing me to Callahan, Alyssa, Sam, Bad and the others.” _And Dream._ But neither of them were in a good enough headspace to think about _him._

“I haven't seen Alyssa and Callahan in forever,” Tommy mumbled, clearing his throat after it broke. George didn't tease him about it like he would've before. “Where are they now?” 

“They live quite far from here, neither of them are fans of war.”

Tommy hummed. George liked to think that no one was a _fan_ of war, no one sought after it, they were all casualties of battles, filled with trauma and pent up anger. The only person who seemed to enjoy it was Dream. It made sense that he was the cause. 

Still, a part of George wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to see it from his side, maybe he could understand. But then the tower that Tommy had been reduced to came back into mind, and all understanding went out the window. 

“After I joined their little group, we came here, built the community house and tried to make the home none of us had ever had.”

“And was it? The home you never had?”

He remembered the day Sam left, his eyes flicking to his doorway as the guilt ebbed in his chest. Slamming doors and ultimatums. He almost let Dream ruin that friendship too, just like the bond with Quackity that had been nipped in the bud before it could sprout into the friendship it was supposed to be. 

With every memory, and every realization, he grew more and more angry. He wanted to defend Dream, he really did, but he found it harder and harder with every moment. 

“It wasn't meant to be,” He said simply, smiling fondly as he scanned the house he was currently in, cuddled up on the couch with someone who he promised to protect, “But I have hope yet.”

Tommy's eyebrows pinched, “Who knew you were such a sap, Gogy.” 

A comfortable silence fell between them, before long a yawn breaking through the confines of Tommy's throat, but before George could ask if he wanted to go to bed, his head fell onto his shoulder. 

Maybe he just didn't want to be alone, George was okay with that. He could protect him better this way anyways, able to keep watch as he slept, and give him something to do while he fought off his own fatigue. 

George threaded his fingers through Tommy's hair, stifling a yawn of his own. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes, just for a minute. 

When he woke up the next morning, Tommy curled into his side, breathing softly, a blanket strewn over them and Sam sitting at the counter drinking coffee, he didn't mention it.

But between Tommy mumbling under his breath, the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen, and the fact that he _woke up_ , he couldn’t help but smile. 

* * *

“You're such a mother hen -- I'm fine!” 

George huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring even harder when Sam laughed. Tommy had insisted on helping cook, but ended up burning himself in the process, leading to their current predicament, George forcing a cold rag on his arm as he tried to get away.

“You need to keep it cool or it's going to hurt,” George chastised, once again raising the damp cloth to his inflamed skin. Tommy pulled away, again. 

“Yeah… if I was a bitch,” Sam laughed harder, George swatted the rag over the back of his head, “But I’m a big man, George!” 

“Fine,” George resigned, sitting at his spot at the table, sipping his apple juice in a way that _screamed_ passive aggressive, “Don't cry to me when it starts to hurt.” 

“Never,” Tommy rebutted, clenching his jaw. George fought the urge to smirk, instead, offering the rag. Tommy shook his head, muttering, “Pog through the pain.”

Sam chuckled, reaching towards George to grab the salt and pepper, then sprinkling them on his eggs, “So, whaddya wanna do today?” He asked between chewing, smiling when George groaned and smacked him. 

“Don't we have to hide in here?” Tommy asked, caving and reaching towards where George put the rag, cursing him out under his breath as he put the wet cloth on his skin. 

George smiled, mostly glad that Tommy was okay and taking care of himself, but also feeling ever so slightly vindicated. 

“You both should stay in here, at least for now, but that doesn't mean we have to be bored all day.” 

“ _We_ don't have to do anything, Sam,” George interrupted, “You've already done enough, you don't need to babysit us.”

Sam tilted his head, rolling his eyes, “What part of ‘I want you to feel at home’ did you not understand? If you think I'm going to leave you guys when I can help it, you're dumb.”

George wanted to be cheeky and continue with his stubbornness, but an idea struck him.

“Do you still have the archery equipment?” 

Tommy perked up, looking between Sam and George with pinched eyebrows and a slight frown, only increasing when Sam smirked. “Archery equipment?” 

“Yeah, for George to practice with,” Sam explained, laying his fork over his plate and taking a sip of water, “He's the best archer on the SMP, didn't you know?”

“Well I wouldn't say the bes-”

“WHAT?!”

Both Sam and George flinched when Tommy interrupted them, George's cheeks pink from the praise. 

Sam nodded vigorously, his lips pulled into a large grin, obviously excited, “Yeah, he can outshoot anyone! It just tends to get overshadowed by his… louder… friends.” He took another sip of water, mumbling an apology when George shot him a glare.

“It's fine,” George shrugged, “I don't need the validation to know I'm the best.”

“I didn't know you were good at archery, George,” Tommy admitted, growing sheepish as he stabbed the small crumbs of food on his plate, “Wilbur always said you were the glorified trophy wife of the Dream Team.”

George’s mouth dropped open, and Sam doubled over in laughter. 

“Trophy wife?!” He exclaimed, making a mental note to re-kill ghostbur when he saw him, “I did basically everything!” 

“I thought you were okay with ‘no validation’, George.” Sam quipped, breathless from his heavy laughter. 

George huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he, well, pouted. It was true, he never relied on validation or other’s approval, but he at least wanted credit where it was due. 

He pushed past the pettiness and let himself feel excited about getting back into archery, he would surely need to hone in his skills after being out of the game for a month. 

The duel once again plagued his conscious, Tommy versus Dream with only a bow and one arrow. Teaching him how to defend himself better wouldn't hurt either. 

“Whatever, let's just clean up so we can go.”

Sam nodded, smiling brightly as he admitted he had made some changes to their archery room, and that he couldn't wait for them to see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go drink some water legends, ily
> 
> also if anyone ever thinks of a prompt or idea for this au, feel free to leave it in the comments or write it :)
> 
> i might do some one shots for this as more ideas come to me,, i'm a slut for that family dynamic 😳


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this purely out of desire to see this dynamic, i wasn't expecting it to get much support haha
> 
> now i'm worried it won't live up to people's expectations oop
> 
> anyways more inconsistent chapter lengths 😩

George was left speechless when Sam showed him what he meant, long gone the small room with a single worn target and bad lighting, a large, long corridor with multi-colored targets and a variety of bows and arrows decorating the walls taking its place.

“Holy shit, Sam” Tommy muttered, eyeing the room with awe. George was glad the teenager was just as excited as he was. 

Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, always humble about his builds and how much work he put into his projects, it was something George had always admired about him. “Yeah, I- Uh, I built this in case you ever wanted to move back, George. Figured you'd like a nice place to practice.” 

George’s felt warm, blood rushed to his cheeks and his heart beat quicker. Just when he was getting used to how thoughtful Sam was, he always had something new to surprise him with. 

“Well, uh,” He stuttered, eyes gleaming as he noticed his bow was still there, his favorite one from before he moved, he turned back to him, making eye contact, “Thank you, Sam.” 

Sam opened his mouth, fondness on his face that turned into surprise when Tommy yelled, “Guys! Stop being so slow and let's fuck some shit up!” 

George spent the next couple of hours teaching Sam and Tommy the correct form, how to improve aim, and where to look, among other things, showing off just  _ slightly _ along the way. 

Tommy was a naturally skilled fighter, with tons of potential. The only thing he lacked was a good, patient teacher. George wanted to be that. He wanted to fill the guardian role, teach him all that he could and protect him from the world. That feeling terrified him. 

He was grateful for Sam, grateful that he had someone he knew he could trust and that he wasn't alone. Sam had always gravitated towards the role of a protector, and he knew that he would help Tommy, too. 

* * *

“Georgeeee,” Tommy whined, plopping down next to him on the couch and laying his head on George’s thigh, hands rubbing his temples. 

At first he tried shoving him away, but Tommy remained planted in place. After a moment, with a roll of his eyes, he let it be, “What do you want, Tomothy?” 

Tommy paid no attention to his question, just groaning and shutting his eyes, "My head hurts.”

“What am I supposed to do about that?” George snipped, but he couldn't help the gentle adoration that pooled in his chest. Tommy trusted him, and he came to him for help. 

The closest thing to family George had ever had was the Dream Team, he had always thought that was it, that he would never get anything else. But this… this whole situation had George reconsidering that; more and more with each passing moment. It made him feel warm. 

That warmness only doubled when Tommy mumbled, “fix it, please?”

George mumbled under his breath, asking how the  _ hell _ he was supposed to fix a headache, but he spurred into action anyways. 

George sighed, bringing a hand to the blonde’s head, gently stroking his forehead and temples. Tommy practically purred at the action, nuzzling into George’s hand. He continued massaging Tommy’s head, going back between gently padding his scalp and running his fingers through his hair.

“How much water have you had today?” George asked softly, not trying to hurt the teen anymore, “You might be dehydrated.”

Tommy only whined, shaking his head softly. 

“Tommy,” George reprimanded, “Go drink some water.” 

“In a minute…” He mumbled, voice barely above the volume of a whisper, “M’Comfy.” 

George huffed, readjusting so he was situated better on the couch, fingers still massaging Tommy's head as the blonde soon fell asleep, curling around him like a cat.

That's when Sam walked in, looking at the two with an unreadable glint in his eyes and a small smile on his lips, he motioned to Tommy, “He still tired?” He asked softly. 

George nodded, “His head hurts.” Sam frowned, immediately coming to George's other side, leaning into him without thinking and scanning Tommy, like he expected there to be something physical on his head to make it hurt.

“He probably needs water,” Sam whispered, eyes wide, the way his head tilted reminded George of a golden retriever, “Has he had any water?” 

“That's what I thought…” He smiled, turning towards Sam. Their faces were close. only centimeters apart, George’s eyes flicked to Sam's lips involuntarily, his breath hitching when Sam mimicked his actions, then met his eyes. 

“I really am glad you're here, George,” He whispered, almost an octave lower, it sent chills down his spine and heat pool in his stomach. “I want you both to be happy here.”

A comfortable moment of silence fell between them, George tilted back to Tommy, weirdly content with his life at that moment. His own eyelids grew heavy, and he found himself leaning further into Sam. But the second he started feeling the warm grasp of sleep take him, he jolted back awake, almost waking up the sleeping boy on his lap. 

Sam looked at him with furrowed brows, but he shrugged him off, “It's nothing.” He mumbled, “Don't worry about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sam carefully put a hand on one of George's, which was still massaging Tommy's scalp. His hand was a lot bigger than his, he wasn't sure why that made him feel so good.

“I live far away, but I still hear all the gossip…” George tensed. He knew where this was going. “No one heard from you in a month -- where were you?” 

George winced, hand stilling and closing his eyes, like if he ignored it it would go away. He didn't want to explain how he was a pushover, letting Dream get away with controlling him over and over, just like the day Sam had left. He didn't want him to think any less of him. 

“A couple hours from L’Manburg.” He said simply, relishing in the fact that  _ technically _ , it wasn't a lie. He was a couple hours from L’Manburg, just hidden in a small hut, put in a coma like a glorified sleeping beauty.

Sam sighed, clearly not satisfied with his answer, his thumb rubbing circles on George's wrist, “I'm not going to pressure you, I trust you'll tell me when you're ready.”

Tommy stirred, mumbling something under his breath, eyebrows pinched. They shared a look. 

“I think he's having a nightmare.”

Frowning, George took in the sleeping boy's face, a deep frown dragging his lips and eyes twitching under his eyelids, it scared him more than he liked to admit. How was he supposed to protect Tommy from his dreams?

“What do we do?”

Soft whimpers escaped the blondes throat, each one sending George's heart skyrocketing. Sharing a look with Sam, he could tell he felt the same way. 

“Tommy,” George whispered, gently shaking the boy, the blonde's breath was shaky, George put his hand on his shoulder, “Tommy, hey, wake up.” 

The whimpers finally stopped, Tommy's eyes slowly peeling open, flinching both from the light and from George and Sam staring down at him. 

“Uh... hi, what's up?”

George snorted, relief filling his chest as he knew Tommy wasn't in any pain, even in a dream. “You were having a nightmare, Toms.” 

Tommy's face fell, George could tell that he was trying to put his walls back up, hide his vulnerability. Sam leaned forward, rubbing his hand through blonde hair, “How's your headache, bud?”

“That reminds me,” George interrupted, mostly thinking about Tommy taking care of himself, but a small part also offering him an out, a change in topic or a chance to get some air, “Tommy, go get some water.”

The blonde huffed, mumbling, “Don't tell me what to do, bitch.” But he stood up anyways and headed towards the kitchen. 

When Tommy wasn't latched onto him like a little leech, George became astutely aware of how he was basically on Sam's lap, so close he could smell his natural musk and cologne.

His cheeks grew bright red, embarrassment making the blood rush from his chest, to the nape of his neck, then up to his face; he scooted further away, not noticing how Sam's face fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but more to come
> 
> if i get a second tonight i'll update again :)
> 
> ty for all the comments & kudos i appreciate it <3 
> 
> ily


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 updates in one day, mom are u finally proud of me

A week had passed since then, and George was making his way back to the archery room, as Tommy all but begged him for more lessons. 

He didn't mind though, he liked teaching, it was fun when he had someone so excited to learn. 

Sam was out, spitefully gathering supplies for the house, complaining about leaving the entire time he got ready. It made George smile, thinking about how happy Sam had been lately, he really was a golden retriever, thriving when he had people to protect and give him attention. 

George had to admit, he was pretty happy too. He wanted to believe that Tommy and Sam were his family, but he was afraid that if he said it, he would jinx it and it would all come crashing down. 

He had quickly adapted to filling the role as Tommy's guardian, Sam happy to help in any way George couldn't. Iit felt nice, having someone supporting him. He was still afraid, so terribly afraid, but it was getting a little bit easier to breathe. 

Sleeping was the one thing that didn't get easier, every night George walked into his bedroom, determined to fall asleep, only to end up on the couch, usually with Tommy, terrified that the next time he'd fall asleep he wouldn't wake up, or worse of all, that he'd wake up and all of this would be a dream. 

Eventually he just came straight to Tommy’s room, his anxiety forcing him to make sure he was safe. He held him until the blonde’s soft breathing filled the room and till he eventually, literally, passed out. 

George shivered as he slowly made his way through the house, cursing the lack of wood by the fireplace. That was one of the downsides of living in the side of the mountain, it was always cold. Sam and Tommy never seemed to mind, but George always felt like he was seconds away from freezing to death. He'd have to ask Sam to get some more wood when he got back. 

The soft grey color of a hoodie caught his eye, it being one of Sam’s left on the back of a chair. He didn't want to be a nuisance and steal his clothes, but it was cold, there was no more wood, and it wasn't exactly like he had a ton of his own clothes laying around that he could bundle up in.

He slipped the hoodie over his head without a second thought, the fabric drowning his smaller body, cuffs falling just past his fingertips and the hem reaching his mid-thigh. 

It smelt just like Sam, his cologne, his shampoo. He wondered when that smell became so… nice. And comforting. It smelt like home, like his daydreams of stability and safety, if he took another deep inhale before heading to Tommy, that was his little secret. 

Tommy burst out laughing when he saw what George was wearing, Fran wagging her tail by his side, “Jesus, Gogs, you're fuckin short.” He quipped. George rolled his eyes. “Is that what took you so long? You were stealing Sam's hoodie?”

“Shut up,” George shot back, cheeks flushing from the embarrassment. He walked to the wall lined with bows, grabbing the same one he always used, “Are you ready to start?” 

“I've been ready,” Tommy retorted, grabbing his own bow, “Had I known you were simping over Sam I would have started without you.”

George glared at the tall blonde, his cheeks growing hotter and his chest tighter, “I wasn't simping over Sam.” He mumbled, making Tommy laugh, “Now stop trying to put off being destroyed in archery.” 

“Pfft, big man, I'm going to be better than you in no time, I'm kind of a legend didn't you know?”

George scoffed, shaking his head with fondness, grabbing some arrows for him and Tommy, “You are, Tommy -- You'll be a pro in no time.” He said genuinely, smirking when Tommy's pseudo-arrogance faltered for a moment, before he made a face. 

“Augh, you're so gross and sappy, George,” He deflected, “What happened to you?”

George smiled wider, biting his tongue from responding with ‘you’, he pointed towards Tommy's bow, putting his attention back on the lesson, “Anyways, can you remember the name of your style of bow?”

Tommy thought for a minute, twisting it in his hand and getting used to the weight, “Uhh, recurve?”

“Yes, perfect,” George affirmed, he felt pride swirling in his chest as he watched Tommy, who was smiling with slowly-growing self confidence. He wanted to teach him all that he knew, so that he could always be sure of himself and believe that he was able to take on the world. “Recurves are typically used for beginners, since they only have the essentials,” He pointed out the different parts of the bow, “The string, an arrow rest, limbs and a riser.” 

Tommy nodded. George explained the basics their first time, but he wanted to implement it deep inside his brain, so that it came as natural to the teen as breathing. 

“There's other bows, like longbows, crossbows and compound, but for now we'll stick with this.” 

“How did you get into archery anyways?” Tommy asked, taking an arrow from George and notching one, waiting for further instruction.

George drew his own bow, waiting for Tommy to take in his stance and recreate it, “I never liked swords, but I needed a way to get food and protect myself -- archery just came natural to me.” He focused on the target from the sight of his bow, string against his cheek, before releasing, the arrow sinking in the dead center of the bullseye. 

“Why do you have the string so close to your face? Aren't you worried about it hitting you?” 

He shook his head, smiling as he remembered that was one of his fears when he was starting out, “It won't hit you, trust me, it helps with accuracy.”

Tommy huffed, biting his lip as he raised the bow and pulled back, his breathing quick and his posture tense. 

“Relax, Toms,” George assured, coming to his side and checking his stance, “Get out of your head, focus on the target. When you're ready, release, and remember to follow through.”

The blonde took a deep breath, before releasing the string, the arrow flying forward and missing the bullseye by merely an inch. However, that inch didn't stop Tommy from jumping up and down in excitement.

“George! Look! Do you see that!” He cheered, facing George like he was searching for his approval, his validation. 

George returned his smile, pride flowing through him with far greater force than before. He stepped forward, tentatively hugging Tommy, who stilled in his arms for a moment, before returning the affection. 

“You did great, Tommy,” He whispered earnestly, pulling back and looking into blue eyes, “I knew you were a natural, with a little more practice and I have no doubt that you'll be better than me.”

He patted his back before pulling away completely, leaving the blonde reeling from the genuine praise. George wondered if anyone had ever complimented him before. 

He grabbed another arrow, holding it out for him. 

“Now do it again.”

George didn't know how long they stayed there, but the next thing he knew the large door to the cave was grumbling open, and it became painfully aware to him that he was still in Sam's hoodie. 

Before he could even think about taking it off, the door to the archery room opened and Sam stepped inside, freezing in his tracks when he noticed what George was wearing. George didn't need to look at Tommy to know he was smirking.

“Uh, hi.” George greeted lamely, his cheeks growing red as he met eye contact with Sam, his mouth agape and pupils wide, like a deer caught in headlights, “Um -- we ran out of, out of wood... and I was cold.” 

Sam nodded slowly, before clearing his throat and leaning against the wall, “It's okay, George, it looks good on you.”

He didn't think it was possible to blush harder, but after he said that George felt like he could melt into the floor, both with embarrassment and… something else that he couldn't quite place. 

Luckily Tommy was the one to change the subject, bouncing towards Sam and pulling him to the end of the range and towards the targets, “Look Sam, I hit the bullseye! Multiple times!”

“No way Tommy!” Sam cheered, the hoodie forgotten and excitement filling his mind, he turned, sharing a smile with George before looking back to the teen, “I had a feeling you'd pick it up quick.”

George made his way down to the targets, finally able to retrieve the arrows after Tommy made him keep them there till Sam could see. 

“Where did you go today, big man?” Tommy asked. It was something that George noticed he did a lot, he always seemed to be searching for praise, but then as soon as he got it, he deflected. 

“Well, bud, I stocked up on meat, got some fruits and vegetables, and I uh… got some card games, thought we could use something new to do around here.” 

Tommy's attention piqued at the mention of cards, his fingers twitching by his sides and he chewed his lips, “Cards?” 

Sam nodded, eyebrows pinched, “Yeah, why?” 

“Nothing,” He mumbled, looking towards the ground for a moment before carefully meeting eye contact with Sam, who was removing his creeper mask, “Can we play speed? I used to play with Wilbur and it was my favorite.”

Sam met George’s gaze, the atmosphere in the room changing at the mention of Wilbur. The only way George knew him was through war, and it just then occurred to him that between the TNT, between the battles, Wilbur was still human. He played games with his brother, and sang and played guitar. He wondered if Tommy had mourned his death yet, or if that was another thing he was keeping inside. 

“Why don't you and George play a game first,” Sam finally answered, patting Tommy's shoulder before smirking, winking at George, “Apparently I need to go chop some more wood.”

Tommy burst out laughing, the tense atmosphere evaporating as the embarrassment flooded back into George’s chest. 

“Shut up.”

* * *

“We're friends right?” 

George frowned, looking up from his hand of cards to look at Tommy, who was focused intently on his own cards and chewing his lips, a frown etched onto his face. 

“What’re you talking about, Tommy? Of course we're friends.” He set down his cards, their game of go fish long forgotten, “What made you ask that?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, setting down his own cards and putting his head in his hands, “I just, I thought Dream was my friend,” George winced, hot white anger building in his gut, “He told me so, but he kept doing things that hurt me…” 

George swallowed down his questions, needing to make sure Tommy felt comfortable first. “It's okay, take your time.” 

The blonde sighed, rubbing his temples as he took a second to find the words, “It was so confusing -- I'm still confused. He would tell me he was there for me, but then he would leave. I know now that he was just there to watch me, but-” 

He raised his head, glassy blue eyes meeting George's, “Are you going to leave me, too?”

George's heart shattered as the words left Tommy's mouth. As far as he was concerned, Dream was dead to him. 

“Tommy, listen to me,” He made his voice as steady and as confident as possible, not wanting to give one reason for the boy not to believe him, “We're family now, I'm never leaving you. Dream will never come near you again.”

Tommy sniffled, wiping a stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, nodding slightly.

“Why don't we go see if Sam needs help with wood,” George stood up, the cards long forgotten, “The fresh air and sunshine would be nice too.”

“Aren't we not supposed to go outside?” Tommy's voice wavered, but he stood up regardless. George fought the urge to hug him and hide him away until the end of time, all he wanted was to keep him safe.

George led them to the door, pressing random buttons till he found the right one, “Everyone needs a little fresh air once in a while, don't you think?” 

Sam stood a little bit in front of the door, watching intently as it opened and they stepped through, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, coming forward, frowning, holding an axe to his side.

That's when George noticed, he was shirtless; the breath left his lungs. A thin sheen of sweat covered his muscles, showing off his defined abs and shoulders as he walked closer, his biceps flexing as he held the axe. 

“I- uh, what?” George stuttered, his face getting warmer and the same heat pooling in his stomach. 

Tommy snorted, stepping forward and taking the lead, giving George a much needed second to catch his breath, “We needed air, big man.” 

Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair, George's eyes trailed the action intently. “As much as I don't want to risk you guys being seen, it probably would be good for you both to get some sun, you've been cooped up for a while.” 

“Do you need help?” George asked, finally finding his words, his eyes meeting Sam’s. Though when Sam looked at him like that, filled with adoration and genuine fondness, his thoughts stopped flowing once again. 

Sam’s mouth opened to answer, but Tommy shot forward and interrupted him, “Oooh, can I use the axe big man?” He asked, already reaching out. Sam hesitantly handed it to him, sharing a look with George. 

“Please be careful, Tommy.” He reminded, fully knowing the teen was capable of handling himself, he had seen it before. But as he grew closer to the blonde, he found himself growing far more worried over the little things. He could already hear Tommy's snarky, ‘okay mom’. 

Tommy waved him off, practically running to the trunk where Sam was chopping wood, said man trailing close behind. 

George snorted, a slight smile pulling his lips as he watched the scene unfold, Sam very obviously worried, helicoptering over the eager blonde and handing him wood. 

However, chopping wood wasn't his forte, so he walked to where Fran was laying in the sun, golden beams illuminating her fur, and he laid by her side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really like this dynamic ngl, again if anyone wants to leave ideas for maybe future chapters? maybe a series of one-shots following this,, feel free to comment or send a message to my tumblr or twitter
> 
> tumblr is @slushiesforcar  
> twitter is @saquashing


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello  
> the number of chapters may increase depending on editing and rewriting a couple things so be prepared for that

Tommy watched carefully as George walked away, his stomach twisting as his nerves buzzed, making his hands feel shaky. He took a deep breath as he reminded himself that Sam wouldn't hurt him, he knew he wouldn’t. Wait, did he know that?

His fingers tightened on the handle of the axe. 

George wouldn't have left him with Sam if he thought he would hurt him. They wouldn't have gone to him if he didn't trust him. He trusted George, as weird as that was, and he trusted his judgement. 

Now was the perfect time to do what he had been wanting to do for days, though, so he swallowed down his anxiety, and forced the voice from the back of his head. 

Sam placed a smaller log on the larger one, and directed Tommy where to hit. He huffed, did he look like a damn fool? Of course he knew how to chop wood, he lived in a cold, wet ravine for fucks sakes. 

Still, he did what he was told, and he chopped the wood. Why did their validation feel so good? He was an independent man, he didn't need no one, exile proved that. Tommy shivered involuntarily, the smell of gunpowder plaguing his nose. He scanned the area quickly, looking to George first, making sure there were no creepers nearby.

Sam wore a creeper mask. He wondered if he was a hybrid, like Fundy or Antfrost. That would be cool. He would ask him about it later, but he had more important things to worry about.

“We need to have a chat, big man.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow, stepping across from Tommy so they were facing each other, “Is everything okay, bud?”

Tommy scowled, how did Sam make him feel so… calm? It must be mind tricks, or maybe mind control. Mind something. 

“You and George.” He said simply, swinging his axe into another log in an attempt at intimidation, but pouting when the wood just bounced off, a minor chip in the side. “You two are always staring at each other and shit. Don't think I haven't noticed you lookin’ at him with heart eyes.”

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling out of place. He looked to the ground, seeming almost solemn, “I know…” He confessed, Tommy was almost surprised at how easy it was to get him to confess, maybe he had mind powers too. “But he has a lot going on, and I know his heart still belongs to someone else.” Tommy's lip curled at the implication. “If all I can have him as is a friend, I'm okay with that.”

A silence fell between them, neither of them quite sure what to say. Tommy felt bad for Sam, he clearly cared more for George than Dream ever did, and yet he was still sitting on the sidelines.

Tommy chewed his lip, swallowing his displeasure at the idea of George with Sam, overpowering his desire to protect him. He wanted to keep him safe, pay him back for protecting him, as annoying as it was, but maybe this was the way to do so. 

Besides, as sure as Sam was that George still loved Dream, he wasn't. 

“You're twice the man Dream ever was,” Tommy replied earnestly, his serious tone making Sam's eyes widen, “And I wouldn't be so sure that George doesn't love you and shit -- You should have seen how hard he blushed when I teased him about wearing your hoodie, it was ridiculous, he was like a tomato.” 

Sam’s lips curved into a small smile, his tense muscles relaxing ever so slightly and his cheeks dusting with pink. Tommy fought the urge to gag. 

“Give him time.” He continued, ignoring the anxiety pooling in his stomach. If George and Sam got together, would they still want him around? Was he going to be alone again? He set down the axe, raising his hand to bite his nails. 

He hadn't let himself think about anything that had happened in exile, the TNT or the tower. He didn't want to die, he just couldn't stand to be alone anymore. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he could survive going back to that. 

But that was selfish, just like Dream had called him. He shouldn't be making decisions based off of himself, George rescued him, the least he could do was help him with his gross relationship problems. 

His thoughts immediately faded away when Sam suddenly wrapped him in a hug. Tommy's breath stuttering and his lip quivering just slightly. He didn't know why, he was a big man, he was fine.

Sam rubbed his shoulder, he hiccuped as he fought himself from crying. God, why was he crying? He was fine. He didn't need anyone. 

“You're a good kid, Tommy.” 

That was the final straw, and Tommy broke down into Sam's arms. His legs felt week beneath him, and he was grateful for Sam for keeping him upright. 

It was like the floodgates opened, once he started crying, he couldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried. All of his attempts at apologizing and talking melted into hiccups and sobs. Sam didn't seem to mind, whispering affirmations into his ear and rubbing his back. 

Tommy trembled in his arms, shaking and heaving, flashes of Wilbur, of Dream, of exile, tnt and wooden towers overlooking craters. 

Soon another set of hands touched his side, arms wrapping around him. He flinched for a moment, before his eyes shot open and he saw George, face kind, and brown eyes glassy.

The three ended up on the ground, Tommy latched onto George and crying into his chest, legs draped over Sam, who was rubbing circles into his knee. 

“I-I'm sorry-” He hiccuped, head pounding and his lungs burning. 

George shushed him, rubbing his arm. “Don't apologize, Tommy,” He soothed, “Crying is healthy, just let it out.”

“Yeah, bud, don't worry about it,” Sam added, “Only big men cry.” 

Tommy snorted, his breath slowly evening as his panic faded. He noticed George leaning into Sam's chest, and he held on tighter. 

_ I'm never leaving you.  _

He took a deep breath. George was his family now, he even said so. He wasn't going to leave him, even if he ended up dating Sam. All he could do was trust him, despite his fears. 

* * *

George stared down at the sleeping blonde laying on him, his hands threading through his hair. He was worried, as soon as he noticed he was crying he leapt from his spot next to Fran and ran to him, needing to help.

Sam had a handle on it, he knew, but his worry overpowered that. He needed to be there himself. It was like when he had pets, that same need to care for them, just a thousand times stronger. 

“We should move inside.” Sam whispered, his breath tickling George's ear. That's when he realized just how close they were, he was practically on Sam's lap, his back against his chest and head against his shoulder. 

Nodding, he moved away from him, gentle fingers padding through Tommy's hair and fondness filling his chest. For both of the blondes, just in different ways. He didn't think too hard about that, focused on getting the teenager inside. 

“Here -- I got him.” Sam said, kneeling down and hooking his arms under his knees and back, “I don't wanna wake him up, he needs the rest.”

George followed him inside, tucking him into the bedding in his room, Fran jumping up and laying by his feet, and making sure he had a glass of water waiting for him, before meeting Sam back in the living room. 

He sat on the couch, head in his hands as he tried to process all of his thoughts and emotions. He felt the cushion shift as Sam sat down next to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. George didn't pull away. 

“I don't know what to do.” George whispered, his emotions clouding his usual self-restraint. He wiped a stray tear, barely registering that his eyes were tearing up. “I don't know how to help.”

Sam pulled him closer, rubbing his side. George let himself relax in his hold, his head burrowing in his chest. He smelt good, George noted, temporarily distracted by his natural musk mixed with cologne. 

Why did it calm him so much?

“You need to give yourself some credit, George,” Sam kissed the top of his head, his heart thundered in his chest, he wouldn't be surprised if Sam could hear it, “You're helping plenty by just being there for him.” 

“Dream hurt him, Sammy,” George mumbled, the old nickname falling off of his tongue without a second thought. Sam tensed slightly at the name, so George continued, hoping they could ignore it, “Dream hurt a lot of people, and somehow -- for some reason I ignored it, I just didn't see it.” 

George raised his eyes to meet Sam’s, the way he met his gaze made him feel vulnerable, like his entire soul was on display, but he kept the contact. 

“Dream hurt  _ you,  _ and I just let it happen.”

Sam's breath hitched, and his hand stilled on George's side, “Why is it you think I left the SMP, George?” 

He shut his eyes, his jaw clenching. He hated remembering the day he left, hated how silent the community house was after, how Callahan and Alyssa stopped coming around as much. 

He swallowed thickly, before opening his eyes again, “You and Dream were fighting, I don't remember what started it, but it got worse after we started hanging out more,” He mumbled, tears filling his eyes as his fingers traced unintelligible shapes onto Sam's arm, “But I remember yelling, and at the end, Dream told me I could leave with you or stay with him and Sapnap.”

Sam sighed, his fingers picking up again. George inhaled deeply, licking his lips as he continued, “I was frozen, I didn't know what to do -- The next thing I knew you were slamming the door behind you and I didn't see you again for almost a year. Where did you go?”

“I just needed space.” Sam replied, George wondered if he was keeping vague on purpose. He hoped he didn't make him mad by how little he remembered, but he had a bad habit of zoning out whenever someone started yelling. He felt lips on his forehead, and it helped soothe some of his worries. 

“There was nothing you could have done either,” Sam continued, “I know Dream is your friend, and I don't want to put him down in front of you, but he's not a good person.” 

Flashes of the bed, of the ageing picture in the frame, left decaying like his respect for Dream, entered his mind, only topped by the crater, by the sight of Tommy headed to the tower, with that resignation in his blue eyes. 

He nodded, urging Sam to continue. 

“He's always been possessive over you, and I was willing to overlook that, as long as you were happy, but then it changed.” 

“What changed?”

“He got mad at me for talking to you, for taking your attention away from him. That's what started the fight. He called you ‘his’ and I just… I just couldn't handle it.” 

George felt conflicted. He was furious with Dream, for driving Sam out because of his jealousy and for objectifying him. But also warm, flustered from Sam standing up for him, for wanting what was best for him. 

It felt like the difference between infatuation and love. Possessiveness and respect. The difference between the two were night and day, and he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. 

George raised his head, glassy brown eyes looking into green, before tilting, placing a gentle kiss to Sam's cheek, his stubble pricking his lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.”

George shot up when Tommy walked into the room, pulling him into a hug, his arms tight around his chest. 

“Uh -- hi?” Tommy sputtered, wrapping his own arms around him and looking to Sam, who was only smiling. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” George assured, pulling away and shoving the constant image of the tower from the back of his mind, “I'm just glad you're here.” 

Sam stood up, ruffling Tommy's hair and moving to the kitchen. 

“Who wants to play a card game?” 

* * *

“You're such a cheater, this isn't fair!” 

Tommy and Sam shared a laugh, George huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Stop whining and give me your sevens, Gogy.” Tommy held out his hand, smirking as George rolled his eyes and slammed three cards on the table. 

“How do you always know what cards I have?!” George pouted, biting his lip as he stared down at the two remaining cards in his hands, a three and an eight, “Sam your turn.” 

“Hmm,” He took a sip of water, before he faced Tommy, “Tommy, do you have any three's?” 

George felt his face burn as he tried to keep his expression neutral. He had never had a good poker face. 

“Go fish, big man.” 

Sam sighed, and he took a card from the pile. 

George was practically vibrating, waiting impatiently for Sam to put the card in his hand before speaking, “Sam, do you have any threes?” 

He couldn't contain his grin as Sam groaned, thumbing two cards out of his hand and giving them to George, who was giggling at his misfortune. He only needed one more.

“Is there anything specific you two want for snacks?” Sam asked, waiting for Tommy to inspect his hand and decide on who to ask, “I have to go into the SMP tomorrow and can pick them up.” 

Tommy raised a finger, telling him to wait as he asked for aces, huffing when he was told to fish. 

“Could you stop by Niki’s bakery? I've been craving her pastries since exile.” 

Sam nodded, asking George for an eight, laughing when he glared and begrudgingly handed him what he had. 

“Of course I can, bud,” Sam took another sip of water, “Is there anything specific you're wanting?”

“Ooh, chocolate croissants!” Tommy exclaimed, adjusting how he was sitting, licking his lips as he thought about the pastries. 

George nodded, mouth watering as he remembered the last time he had some of Niki’s pastries, he felt a little guilty, he wondered if he should have told her he found Tommy, or where they were. As far as she knew he just disappeared again. 

He shook those thoughts away, focusing on what was most important, the people in front of him. He couldn't change anything now.

“Sam, do you have any threes?” 

Sam smirked, “You already took my threes, George.” 

“Oh, right -- sorry.” He said, picking up a card as his cheeks flushed. “Tommy your turn.” 

Tommy burst out laughing, and George's stomach dropped. 

“No, no way-”

Tommy doubled over, his eyes watering and his hands slamming the table. When he eventually caught his breath, he spoke. 

“George, do you have any threes?”

* * *

George brought his hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn as they sat around the fireplace, Tommy laying on the floor with Fran, her tail wagging as he pet her. 

“Do you wanna go to bed?” 

George shook his head, facing Sam and answering earnestly, “That's the last thing I want.” 

A moment of comfortable silence fell between them, the only sound being the crackling of the fire. But eventually, Sam stood up, stretching his arms and back. 

“Come on,” He said, gathering both of theirs attention, “I have something else to show you, I think y'all will like it.” 

The two shared a look, before following Sam out of the house, George swiping another one of his hoodies before the chill night air could reach him, muttering a ‘shut up’ when both Tommy and Sam smirked. 

“Where are we going big man?” Tommy asked, looking around the dark field with trepidation, the moon being their only source of light. Sam didn’t answer, leading them away from the house and into an elevator, the platform lifting the group to the top of a mountain. 

George didn’t have the time to marvel over his redstone, or how he had never noticed the elevator before, before the doors opened and he was once again left stunned by Sam’s surprises. It felt like there was always something new to completely shock him. He found that the mysteriousness was thrilling, rather than intimidating, as Dream’s had been. 

On top of the mountain was a building, made of andesite and glass, a dome on top with a large telescope. He vaguely remembered one time that Sam told him about his fascination with the stars, the planets, and the constellations. A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupted from his stomach, buzzing through his chest and sending bolts of lightning through his spine. 

So many things change. It’s a part of life. His relationship with Dream had changed, his house changed,  _ he _ changed. But looking at Sam, who was staring at him with the same respect and admiration as he always had, excited about the stars, he was glad somethings stayed the same. 

“Do you see the W in the stars?” Sam pointed out, both Tommy and George squinted as they looked up at the night sky, George huffing as he mumbled something about all the stars looking the same. “It’s made of five stars, look -- right there!” 

Tommy nodded, smiling as he finally noticed the constellation. George rolled his eyes, raising his eyebrows at Sam, like he expected him to be able to highlight the stars. But Sam had a better idea. 

He came behind George, wrapping one arm around his stomach and putting his head right next to his own, George sighed when he felt Sam’s hot breath tickling his neck, back warm against his large chest. Sam raised his other hand, pointing to one of the brighter stars in the sky. 

“This one is Caph,” He whispered, the low timbre of his voice making heat pool in the bottom of George’s stomach. He tried to focus on the stars, but found the only thing that was in his mind was how good it felt to be in Sam’s arms, almost caged in. He should have felt claustrophobic, but he just felt safe. Sam continued, not noticing how George's breath stuttered whenever he spoke, “This one is Shedir-” 

“Why do they have such weird names?” Tommy asked, oblivious to George’s existential crisis, looking into the sky with a big telescope. Sam chuckled, George bit his lip to keep from whining at the sound. 

“There’s a lot of reasons,” Sam explained, thumb rubbing George’s side as he explained. He wondered if he even knew he was doing it, “Needing unique names to keep track of them, basing a lot of them off of the Greek alphabet, you get the idea.” 

Tommy hummed, focusing back on the stars. “They’re really cool -- I’ve never seen them so clear before!” 

“They are pretty neat, aren’t they?” 

George closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the small moment of peace. He felt relaxed, untouchable. It was times like this, like the card game earlier, that he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had endured all of the pain he would ever have to. Like living with Sam and Tommy, growing closer with them, taking on the parental role with Sam was his reward for dealing with all of the pain in his life. He shook those thoughts away, there was still a part of him that was scared of getting too attached, and that it would only bring him pain. 

“Do you see it now?” Sam whispered, breaking him out of his reverie. That’s when he realized Sam moved even closer, pulling him flush against him, so close he felt the rise and fall of his chest, and how his soft lips just barely grazed the outside his ear.

He ignored his flushing cheeks, slowly opening his eyes and looking back towards the sky. There it was, the W. He smiled, relaxing further into Sam’s chest. “I do, I see it!” 

“This constellation is called Cassiopeia, named after a queen in Greek mythology,” Tommy looked away from the telescope, focusing solely on the story, “She was a vain queen, the mother of Princess Andromeda, as beautiful the constellation, she was actually said to be put up there as punishment.”

“Punishment?” Tommy asked, moving away from the telescope and coming closer, standing next to their side. George noticed then that he wasn’t wearing a jacket, and that his nose and cheeks were both pink. He frowned, moving out of Sam’s grasp to peel off his hoodie and hand it to the blonde, who frowned. “I’m not cold, Gogy, put it back on.”

“No,” He replied, “I’ll stay next to Sam, he can keep me warm -- put it on.” Tommy huffed, crossing his arms. George raised an eyebrow, shoving the hoodie into Tommy’s arms as Sam laughed behind them, “You don’t want to get sick, do you?” 

“Maybe I do,” The teen replied, but he took the hoodie anyways and put it on, sinking into the warmth, “Sam, finish your story.” 

Sam wrapped his arms around George again, seemingly happy to have an excuse to pull him close and envelop him in his warmth. “Cassiopeia was punished because she said her and her daughter were more beautiful than the sea nymphs, which was a great offence-” 

George let the rest of the story fade into the background, watching the stars with flushed cheeks and a new sense of admiration. He loved how passionate Sam was about the stars, about mythology, and it was strangely intimate having him explain it, sharing his interests with the people he cared about. If they weren’t a family before, they were now. 

* * *

Sam sighed as he stepped into Niki’s bakery, wishing he was on his way home already, but also wanting to make his boys happy. 

He smiled as he thought about that. His boys. He was always teased about how he naturally fell into the overprotective-guardian role, but it fit. He loved having people waiting for him, he loved protecting and providing. As terrible as the circumstances were, which he still didn't completely understand, he was glad for them. Glad they could come to him. 

The bell jingled as the door closed, and the smell of freshly baked bread and vanilla surrounded him. Niki stepped in from the back room, smiling brightly, which he returned. 

The door opened again, Quackity stepping through, nodding to him, and stepping behind him. 

“Hey Sam,” Niki greeted warmly, “What can I get for ya?” 

“Chocolate croissants?” He asked, eyeing some from behind the glass case. Tommy was right, they looked phenomenal. 

Niki froze slightly, her smile faltering for just a moment before it was back up and she was grabbing a box, “How many?” 

“Uhh, 12?” 

“That's a lot of pastries, Sam.” Quackity joked from behind him, it was lighthearted, but Sam's heart started to race. No one could know who they were for. 

He coughed awkwardly, “Yeah, but they look good.” 

Quackity hummed, Sam could feel the burning gaze from him staring at him. With each passing moment as Niki packed them into the box, his heart rate increased. What was taking so long?

Eventually she placed them on the counter and rang him up, telling him his total. As he grabbed the necessary payment, she spoke, so quiet he barely heard her. 

“I haven't had someone buy the chocolate croissants since Tommy.”

Sam dropped the currency on the counter, his cheeks growing hot, his heart racing. He hated lying, always had. “Oh, uh, my bad,” He said, picking it up and handing it to her, “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“It’s fine,” Niki reassured, handing him his change, but before he could turn to leave, she spoke again, “Sam, have you heard from George by chance?” 

He swallowed thickly, shaking his head, his heart thundering in his chest, “Nope, why do you ask?” 

Quackity stepped forward, coming to his side. Sam could feel him eyeing him up and down, “He came back, saw Niki and told her that he had been asleep for a month, and that he was going to find Tommy.” 

George had come to Niki? He had been  _ asleep _ ? For a  _ month?  _ Sam’s head was going a mile an hour, he needed to talk to George, asap. 

“That’s, that’s strange… Well I haven’t heard from him.” He coughed, taking a step back, but Quackity stopped him before he could get far. 

“Sam, Tubbo went to find Tommy, bring him back as a big ‘fuck you’ to Dream... He wasn’t there, but a tower and a crater was.” Sam inhaled sharply as he put two and two together. A crater, a tower, the reason George had taken him and the reason neither of them wanted to be apart. He felt sick. “Tubbo’s making a memorial for Tommy, he’s convinced he’s dead.”

Niki sighed, moving from behind the counter to the door to lock it, “If you know something Sam, please tell us -- we’ve been making a plan to get rid of Dream, for good, and we think you could help.” 

Sam exhaled sharply, running his hands over his face. He wanted to keep them safe, that was all that was important. As much as he loved them living with him, he didn’t want them to be captives, they shouldn’t have to live life looking over their shoulders. But could he trust Niki and Quackity? 

Did he have a choice? 

“They’re both staying with me…” He resigned, “They have been for a while.”

“So Tommy  _ is  _ alive?” Niki asked, her eyes wide and hopeful, Sam felt like garbage for keeping secrets from her. She didn’t deserve that. 

He nodded, sitting down at one of the tables and setting down the box of pastries, Niki and Quackity following his actions and taking the seats in front of him. 

“Listen, Sam,” Quackity spoke up, his serious tone sending shivers down Sam’s spine. He hadn’t ever heard him sound like that before, “I’m in a group, called the butcher army-” 

“And I’m in the syndicate," Niki butt in. Sam hadn't heard of either of these groups, but he wasn't exactly caught up to speed with the the events of the server, he had two people waiting for him at home to take care of.

“There’s not a person left on the server who likes Dream, not even George if he's hiding in your house.”

Sam’s eyebrows pinched, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. 

“We want to kill him -- or capture him. Whichever comes first.” Niki stared at him, making unsettling eye contact as she finished their… proposition. He couldn’t lie, there were worse things in the world than ridding their lives of Dream. If he helped, they could get justice for how he hurt his boys, and he could keep them safe. 

He leaned forward, hands clasping and face hardening, “What do you need me to do?”    
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give me song recommendations i dare u

**Author's Note:**

> hi ily


End file.
